Throw Me A Line
by ameliaithink
Summary: Meet Annie Cresta as she finds herself lost in the Hunger Games, with only a memory of a boy she met once when she was thirteen giving her the motivation to go on. Rated T to be on the safe side.
1. Meeting Finnick Odair

**Chapter One  
Rough Fingertips**

_This chapter is a flashback from Annie Cresta's memory to her only encounter with Finnick Odair, the night before he was reaped for the 65th Annual Hunger Games. Please read and review with any constructive critisicm. I hope you enjoy.  
I do not own The Hunger Games._

* * *

I only ever had one encounter with Finnick Odair. I remember it like it was yesterday, I remember the shapes of the few clouds in the sky, the direction of the cool summer breeze, the scent of the salty sea wafting through the air. That day will stick in my heart forever.

I was walking along the beach on a Saturday afternoon, eating our green District 4 bread. I passed the docks, where ship captains were flaunting their boats to groups of women, all desperately wanting to latch onto their riches. I carried on further down, past all the hustle and bustle, walking to my favourite part of our District. A young boy was sat, dangling his feet over the edge of a designated fishing post. His father was stood behind him, quickly reeling in his line to reveal a miniscule fish. The pair laughed loudly, throwing their heads back and clutching their stomachs. I couldn't help but smile - a small, sad smile, really; tinged with jealousy. I never had a proper family.

The boy's dad glanced over at me. I noticed his clothes, which clearly screamed "wealth". I looked at mine, a ripped green summer dress, teamed with a worn blue cardigan. My long black hair was knotted fiercely. I probably looked like a tramp to them. His father nodded towards me and the boy turned around. I couldn't see his face; the sun was blocking my vision. Suddenly, the small fish landed at my feet, still flapping around. They'd thrown it to me. They thought I was scum. Without thinking, I hurled my chunk of bread at that boy's head. I screamed a few regrettable words at them, saying I hoped he got reaped, then ran onwards to the part of the beach I was heading to in floods of tears.

I was thirteen, back then. I was a young girl who knew too much about how the world worked. I knew the greed of the Capitol, the division between rich and poor, the horror of The Hunger Games. I knew that even in a rich District, like District 4, there was a lack of justice. The encounter I'd just had proved that. I knew I couldn't change anything, though. I was just a worthless, poor little girl.

I stayed sat where I was, curled up between the sand, sea and rock pools, watching the sun set and cast shadows across the sand. The jagged outline of the rock pools made shadows that looked like the jaws of a sea monster from a scary story we'd been told when we were younger, to stop us from swimming out too far in the sea. I had never felt more alone than I did that night. I heard footsteps behind me. I studied the shadow before deciding whether to feel scared or not, but whoever it was didn't seem too menacing. The shadow stayed for a while before moving closer to me. Whoever it was sat down next to me and handed me a familiar chunk of bread.

"I think you dropped this earlier, miss," the boy from before whispered. I turned my head to look at him. "No, I didn't drop it. I threw it at your head after your father threw a fish at me. Don't you remember?"

"When you put it like that it seems harsh," he frowned.

"With all due respect, _sir_," I retorted, mimicking how he'd called me 'miss' before, "judging me on my clothes and assuming I can't afford to eat is pretty harsh."

"I am really sorry. I felt awful. I would have apologised sooner if you hadn't said all of those things to me, though."

I winced, remembering what I'd said. "I'm sorry too. Let's start over?" I smiled a little, sitting up properly and splitting the bread in half. I handed him a piece. "My name is Annie Cresta, I'm thirteen years old. How about you?"

He smiled, accepting the bread. A peace offering. "My name's Finnick Odair. I'm fourteen. Pleased to meet you, Miss Cresta."

"You don't have to call me 'Miss' and I certainly won't call you 'Sir', sorry!"

"Fair enough. So, Annie, I hope we can become friends."

"Me too, Finnick."

And with that, we were. We spent hours together on the beach, talking and laughing. To say that I'd never felt so lonely before that day, I'd never been happier, too.

"You must go to my school, then!" He exclaimed. "You're only a year younger, I must have seen you. I'm certain I wouldn't have missed you. You have beautiful eyes, Annie."

"I stay inside a lot," I confessed. "I'm not very good at making friends. I've seen you before," I blushed. I had seen Finnick before. I'd also had a crush on Finnick before. His hair was intriguing. It was like a golden colour which sparkled bronze where the sun hit it. His eyes were the most beautiful blue, like the point in the horizon where the sea meets the sky.

"Everyone else is missing out, silly Annie. I can't imagine why you'd have trouble making friends," he smiled, reaching out to take my hand. His fingers curled around mine. The tips of his fingers were worn and rough. "You've been making too many nets, Odair!" I smiled. He brought his fingertips up to my mouth and rubbed them across my lips.

"They're all better now, Cresta." He looked up at me through his eyelashes and my heart skipped a beat.

"Are you nervous for the reaping tomorrow, Finnick?" I whispered. Our heads were so close, our noses grazing against each other. I felt so much older than thirteen.

"Not me, Annie. The odds are in my favour. I've been training for this. Don't you worry; someone will volunteer if you get picked."

"I hope you're not picked," I gasped. I suddenly felt as if I couldn't cope without him.

"I'll win for you if I do, Annie. I swear it."

"Pinkie promise?" I held out my pinkie. He wrapped his strong, rough finger around it. "I pinkie promise."

"It's late. We better go now," I sighed. "Not that I want to leave…"

We stood up to go. It was almost pitch black, with only the dim streetlights allowing us to see. "Sleep tight, Annie Cresta," Finnick murmured. Our fingers curled around each other's once more, mine resting against his chest, just above his heart. His lips touched mine lightly, just for a second, then they were gone and so was he.

I ran home through the darkness, hoping that tomorrow's reaping for the 65th Annual Hunger Games would be kind.


	2. The 70th Annual Hunger Games

**Chapter Two  
Five Years Later**

* * *

Finnick Odair didn't look at me when he was on stage after his name had been picked. He didn't even search the crowd for me. He just stared into the distance. His mentor, Mags, was sat to one side, looking at him and clearly feeling confident with what she saw. Mags was the only person left in District 4 that had been alive before the Games started. Unfortunately, she was five when they did start and had no recollection of life beforehand. The fact that she'd also had a stroke the year after her Victory Tour didn't help. It affected her speech and her memory.

Nevertheless, Mags was a smart woman. She could weave baskets so tight that water wouldn't seep through and she could make every knot under the sun. All her sponsors did were send her food, awls and rope. She won the Games cleverly, never directly killing, just planting traps and capturing the other tributes. They'd dangle upside down by their legs until the blood cells in their brains exploded, they starved or another tribute came along. The Capitol loved it.

Finnick and the female tribute from our District, a 17 year old girl called Hannah, were ushered by the peacekeepers into the Justice Building. Hannah never returned to District 4, but Finnick came back as a Victor. He moved to the Capitol after his Victory Tour. I watched him capture the other tributes in nets and force a trident through their quivering bodies, fearing for his life, hoping that he'd remember me when he came home. I never spoke to him again.

This was five years ago. I am now eighteen years old. My name has been called. I have been reaped as a tribute for the 70th Annual Hunger Games.

I feel nothing as I am pulled onto the stage. I stare into the distance as Finnick did, five years ago, feeling numb. I have no family to say goodbye to. I have no friends to wish me well. I am a weak, unstable girl. I am going to die.

I take a quick look at the male tribute from District 4 as we shake hands. He's about my thirteen, with a dull blonde mop of hair and skinny arms. He's shaking like a leaf, his clammy hands clasping onto mine. Why did no-one volunteer for him? Perhaps he doesn't have a family, either.

We're shoved into our room in the Justice Building but no-one comes to see me. I decide to steal a small medallion left to one side. It probably belongs to one of the Mayor's daughters but it seems fitting. My first name, Annie, means "favour" and my scheming brain translates this to the party favours the rich people give out to guests. My last name, Cresta, means crest. The highest part of a wave is called a crest. Due to my logic, the small, round medallion with a crashing wave engraved on the front - probably representing the sea of District 4 - is a favour towards my luck. It's reasonable to take it.

I often over think things to justify them when I feel guilty.

The peacekeepers come soon enough to pull me out of that room and march me down to the train. I decide to take the time to get to know Mags and the young boy; making emotional ties doesn't bother me. I won't be killing anyone, they'll be killing me.

I learn that the young boy is called Max. He's thirteen and he's been trained. Maybe we will have a Victor, after all. Despite his muted confidence, which I suspect is an act; he is still thin and doesn't seem weak. When Mags asks us to show us what we can do, he manages to hit targets with knives mostly accurately. He's pretty good at dodging and running, too.

Then Mags turns to me. "Show me what you've got," she says, her speech slightly distorted because of the stroke. I gulp. "I can't really do anything," I whisper.

"What are you good at?" She asks. I pause, trying to think. "Swimming," I say confidently. "I'm good at hiding, too. And I can make fish-hooks from scratch, I can weave basic things and I can hunt fish with my hands or with a handmade net."

While I can't cope with action and fighting, I can do the more practical things. I can survive.

Mags dismisses us and we go to sleep in our carriages. I take notice of how pretty and delicate everything seems, not to mention expensive. Lying in bed, I turn the medallion of few times. Sleep never comes.

The next day, we just have time from breakfast, and then we arrive at the Capitol. The citizens are crowding around our train, gawking at us, trying to gauge our chances of winning, making bets on what we'll wear for the opening ceremony. Max is lapping it all up, acting like a true Career tribute. I'm shying away behind Mags.

When we reach the training centre, we're assigned to our stylists. I think the woman I have styled District 4 last year, too. Her and her team set to work on brushing the combs out of my waist-length, wavy, dark hair. I never usually bother doing anything with it, it's too long. The team push me down into a chair in front of a sink and start washing my hair with a shower head attached to the taps. The stuff they use smells of berries and other sweet fruits. After drying my hair, it hangs down shinier and softer than it has ever been before.

"Now, Annie," my stylist says. "How would you like your hair?"

"I don't mind, I don't do anything with it anyway."

The stylist sighs slightly, then takes my hair and wraps it round and round, until it is all fixed with pins in a bun on my head. She then teases a few wispy pieces of hair out, cuts them shorter, and curls them. I don't mind that she cuts a few pieces, I won't be able to notice when my hair is back to normal.

She secures a row of gems down the side of my hair, in all different shades of greens and blues. I suppose they're meant to represent the sea.

She then strips me naked, which embarrasses me so much, and they all stand around and ogle my naked body. They seem to come to some sort of conclusion and mutter about "beauty base zero" and how they wished Xena, who I assume is my stylist, hadn't done my hair first.

I am made to lie down on a bed as they remove all my bodily hair and clean and paint my nails. I'm surrounded by people telling me to close my eyes, no, look up, no close them, open your mouth, pout, smile, as they rub lotions and foundations and dab powders and apply mascaras and eyeliners on me. They come away at once, look at me, then each other and nod as if to say "not bad, I suppose".

Then they pull me up and take me to another room, not caring that I'm naked.

"Is this alright, Xena?" One trills. I catch a glimpse of me in the mirror. They're not an exceptional team of stylists, but I look pretty enough. I allow myself to imagine what Finnick would say if he saw me like this. Of course, he will see me like this. He'll be watching. I look again in the mirror: my lips are a coral colour; my eyes are lined with blue. The theme is obviously the sea this year, which I prefer to previous years where our tributes were made to dress up as fish.

"Yes, very good, thank you," Xena nods. The rest of the team leaves and Xena grabs two large shells. I want to cry with embarrassment as she fixes them over my breasts. The dress she puts on me is a blue, floaty number, with a panel cut out at the front and replaced with a see-through mesh fabric, apparently representing the nets we use for fishing. I supposed I'd rather have shells there than nothing at all.

I'm then pushed out of the room - no-one seems to think about politely asking me where to go - and into my chariot. It is decorated with nets and a small treasure chest on the front, filled with discs wrapped in gold foil, probably chocolate coins. Max is stood wearing a similar shade of blue in a sort of sailors outfit. His eyes go right to my shells and I laugh to myself. If a thirteen-year-old boy can look at me in that way, I'm sure sponsors from the Capitol - and Finnick- can, too. Perhaps I'll survive a little longer in the Games that way.

Our chariot is fourth in the line up, obviously, and I'm glad to hear calls of encouragement. Some have even looked at our names in the programme and I hear a few calls of "Annie! Annie! Over here!" to which I turn and wave in that direction. Max is, again, lapping up the attention, encouraging his side of the crowd to cheer and chant his name. I decide to play the game that the Capitol wants, throwing the chocolate coins in the direction of people that shout my name. Soon, everyone realises what I'm doing and everyone is calling me. The coins run out in a matter of seconds.

We reach the front and listen to President Snow's usual rubbish about the importance of the Hunger Games and whatever else, then our chariots move out and we go have lunch in the canteen with the other Tributes.

I decide I may as well play the Career thing to my advantage, since Districts 1 and 2 come and sit at our table with us. It's an easy alliance and everyone is scared of us already. My chances in the Games are ever increasing.


	3. Winning Him Back

**Chapter Three  
Winning Him Back**

* * *

I spend my time in the training centre shadowing the other Careers. I find out I'm pretty good at making fires and camouflage, which are other practical things.

I decide to use my... Feminine charm to get a boy from District 1 to teach me how to use the bow and arrow. It's so unlike me but I've begun to develop this uncontrollable urge to win. There must be something in the water.

Within an hour of the District 1 boy guiding my arms around the bow, I can hit a target almost accurately. I'm not great, but at least it's some sort of self defence.

"Want me so show you my swords?" He whispers in my ear. He can't see my face as I roll my eyes at this obvious innuendo, but I then put on a fake giggle and touch his chest. "Lead the way!" I say, winking. Knives are easier to get a hold of, this will be useful.

He shows off for me, hitting targets right in the centre from long ranges. I'm pretty good at this too, and with practice I start hitting the targets pretty well.

Soon it's lunch time, and the District 1 tribute is still flirting, holding my tray and pulling out my chair for me. It's ridiculous, since we'll be fighting to the death soon, but I don't complain. I never get male attention so I decide to milk it for a while longer.

Max joins me at the table and I ask him how he's doing quietly. Even though he's an opponent, I feel loyal to him. He's a District 4 kid, after all. He tells me he's having trouble with fires so I resolve to help him after lunch.

When we go back to the training room, he and I sit for an hour or so until he can light a fire with ease. I then move to the station where I can identify edible plants and I'm pretty good at this, too. I'm happy to see that I'm average at everything, and while I may not win, I can go down with a fight.

The training continues like this for three days and the flirting with District 1 continues at lunch time. On the last day of training, he carries my tray and pulls out my chair again.

"You know, 4, this is our last lunch time together," District 1 says. We know each others names but we resolve to call each other by our districts.

"I've been meaning to ask you something, actually," I say. We're tucking into our food, which is lamb stew with dried plums. It's good.

"Is it about an alliance?" He asks. I nod, "Obviously we'll stick to the whole Career thing, I was just checking it's alright if I tag along with you for a while."

"Sure it is, 4. You know you won't last long though, right? No offence."

I am offended. But it's true. "I know that. Thanks."

I get up, pushing my tray to one side, and go back to the gym. He's right. The District 3 tributes are huge and muscled, even the girl. They can throw their own weight and hit targets with a spear from a huge distance. Max is talented at throwing knives and definitely stands a better chance than me. District 1 handles swords as if they're as light as a feather. I've watched him spar. He hits the marks within seconds. The only people I don't see as competition are District 7 and District 12. The District 7 tributes can do the whole fire and plant thing but that's about it. I've seen the tributes from 12 and they're so malnourished, they can't pick up even the lightest weight provided. They're hopeless.

The other tributes soon finish lunch and 1 comes to apologise but I shrug it off. I sit and watch for the rest of the time, weighing up who to look out for and who won't be a threat. By the end of the day, I'm feeling hopeless.

I run to the apartment when Mags is waiting for me. Apparently I need preparation for my interview with Ceaser Flickerman.

"What edge are you going for, dear?" Mags asks, her speech slurred from the stroke. I look at her, bewildered. "Edge?"

"Yes, you know, how will you act? Your chariot ride went really well but now it's serious for sponsors. How will you act?" When I still don't respond she tries again. "Max says you've been flirting with Amos from District 1 so he'll teach you. Is that your edge? Flirtatious?"

"No!" I gasp. "No. I can't do that. Not when... Not when there's so many people watching."

"Those people are your sponsors, dear."

"No. There's someone that I don't want to give the wrong impression to. I don't want him to think bad of me."

Mags looks at me quizzically. I can tell what she's thinking. She's thinking I won't make it, so why does it matter? But I still have a chance. I could still come out alive. Finnick will still be watching and maybe, just maybe, be rooting for me.

"That's okay, then. What edge would you like to do?"

"I'd like to be Annie Cresta."

"And who is 'Annie Cresta'? Who are you?"

"Well, Mags, I'm a shy, seventeen year old girl who kissed Finnick Odair when I was thirteen and still haven't got over it. I want to make it out alive to win him over."

Mags' eyes light up. "That's fantastic," she whispers, with a small smile. She scribbles down a few notes in her jagged handwriting and grins again at me. I don't return the smile.

"What's wrong?" She asks.

"I don't want to seem as if I'm using Finnick for pity," I confess. "If I do win, that could be used against me."

"Then here, we'll change it. Use the same story but don't mention Finnick's name. You want to get out alive to be with a mystery boy from District 4. It's not a lie."

"I doubt Finnick even remembers me."

"Hang on. You're Annie. Annie Cresta..." Mags whispers. "You met him on the beach the night before the reaping."

"How did you know?" I ask. Mags beams at me. "He told me he'd win for you and he did."

"He said that? Finnick said that? But he never came to see me when he visited District 4. I was too shy to say anything, either."

"Don't repeat this, Annie, but the Capitol can mess with your head. Make you feel things you've never felt before. Perhaps they did that to Finnick. Your Finnick is still out there, Annie," she grabs my hand. "Use the Games to win him back!"


	4. Playing The Shy Card

**Chapter Four  
Playing The Shy Card**

* * *

I go to sleep that night with Mags' words circulating my head. Finnick wanted to win for me. The Capitol could have messed with his head and his feelings for me. If I use the Games correctly, I could win him back.

I'm up bright and early for my prep team to make me pretty. They're informed about my "shy edge" that I'm aiming for and dress me up in a dress made of a material as soft as clouds and as blue as the sky. It's floaty again and is short at the front and long at the back. This is apparently fashionable. The train of the dress fades to white and is studded with gems of greens and blues again. The prep team curl my hair loosely, which is a chore for them, because of how long it is. Xena personally does my makeup and applies a light pink tint to my lips, then brushes on shades of blues and whites to my eyelids, matching my dress. Instead of eyeliner, they carefully attach the green and blue gems, that I've become so accustomed to, across my upper lid. The gems start small at the corner of my eye and get slightly bigger. I love it.

District 1 sees me before his interview and winks, saying I look gorgeous. I blush a little. The last compliment I had received was from a certain boy on the beach when I was thirteen.

It doesn't take too long before it's my interview and strangely enough, I'm not nervous. Caesar introduces me with his cheery voice. This year he's green, with green hair, eyelids and lips.

"Annie! Annie, Annie." He takes my hand and presses his lips to it.

"Good evening, Caesar," I giggle, playing the shy card.

"You're a beautiful girl, Annie."

"Thank you, you're not so bad yourself," I joke.

"How did your boyfriend feel about you being picked, Annie? He must have been heartbroken."

"I don't have a boyfriend," I blush. The questions must have been planned, it's too much of a coincidence if not.

"You don't have a boyfriend?! I don't believe it!" Caesar gasps at the audience, who murmur their agreement. He looks at me. "Girlfriend?"

I laugh, amazed. "No, Caesar," I revert to blushing. "I'm very single."

"Do you have your eye on someone?"

"As a matter of fact, I do," I look out at the audience then straight to the floor, blinded by the lights. Caesar looks excited again, moving forward on his chair. I clear my throat. "Would you like to know my story, Caesar?"

"I'd love to. Do tell us."

"Okay. Well, five years ago, when I was thirteen, I kissed a boy. We'd spent the night talking and laughing on the beach and when we decided to go catch some sleep, he kissed me. It was over so quick I wasn't sure it had happened, but my heart was racing so fast I knew it had," I feel tears prick my eyes. "It never happened again. I never spoke to him again. I doubt he remembers..."

"But you do," Caesar murmurs softly.

I nod. "I remember it like it was yesterday."

"So you'll win then, Annie Cresta!" He exclaims triumphantly.

I grin. "I hope so. I want to win so I can win him back."

"All the best, Annie Cresta," he says as time runs out. He takes my hand and pulls me up. "And may the odds be ever in your favour!" He roars to the crowd.

I wave as I walk off stage to find Mags giving me the thumbs up. I did it! We wait for Max who's taking a self-conscious, humble approach. He talks about how he wants to win for his little sister.

"Not quite the same effect as yours gave out," Mags murmurs. The audience barely reacts to his sob story. Max realises this. "Maybe," he huffs, "If Finnick Odair was mentoring like he should be, I'd have a chance." He glares at Mags.

"It's not her fault, Max," I whisper timidly. I hadn't realised Finnick should be mentoring. I turn to Mags and squeeze her hand. "You're doing a great job, Mags."

"Thanks, Annie," she smiles sadly and takes us both by the hand, leading us to our floor. "Finnick has important business in the Capitol, Max. That's why he's not here."

I feel slightly awkward as Mags glances at me, trying to gauge my reaction to Finnick's name being mentioned. I silently call for the elevator and step in as it arrives. Mags presses the button for floor 4, dropping our hands. I'm glad. The mention of Finnick, confirming that he's not a figment of my imagination, has made my heart race and palms turn clammy. I'm glad he's not here.

The elevator is fast, we arrive at our floor quickly. I silently go to my room and lock the door, slip out of my beautiful dress and lay on my bed in my underwear, covering my face.

As I drift to sleep, my mind replays my private training session with the Gamemakers a few days ago.

"_Annie Cresta," a voice calls out. I stand up slowly, glancing at Max. He nods. _

"_Go!" he exclaims, pushing me lightly. I walk through the heavy metal doors, shaking. _

_The Gamemakers politely nod at me. "When you're ready," a woman says, her voice soft and welcoming. Hesitantly, I pick up the bow and arrow laid on a table. There are three dummies in a line. I move so I'm a good distance away from the first dummy – not so close for it to be easy but not so far away for it to be impossible – and shoot an arrow at its chest. It doesn't land on the bullseye but I didn't expect it to._

_Next, I move to the rack of knives and pick three small ones. I stand a little closer to the dummy this time, spinning one of the knives out of my hand. It pierces the dummy's abdomen. I quickly send out the remaining two knives, one lodges in the dummy's temple and another in its chest. I'm just lucky._

_With one dummy remaining, I decide to totally risk it with something I haven't practiced. I'm not concerned about my score. I pick up a spear and launch it from a long distance, aiming for the heart, but piercing its leg. _

"_You are dismissed, Miss Cresta," the woman smiles. I nod politely and thank them as I close the doors behind me. I wink at Max and wish him luck, feeling pretty confident. _

_Later that evening, we all gather in our apartment around the television. Amos from District 1 got a nine. Max got an eight and I got a seven. I'm pretty relieved at getting a score above average. A modest seven will not endanger me further._

When I wake up from my nap, I pull on some clothes and join Max, Mags and the stylists for my last meal in the Capitol. I'm amused slightly that we are served fish. I cast my thoughts back to that day on the beach with Finnick before tucking into my meal. Thinking of Finnick just makes me want to win the Hunger Games even more.

"I have been wanting to run something by you two," Mags says, dabbing her mouth with a napkin. Max and I sit up in our seat. Mags continues. "I think it would be a good idea for us to spend this last night watching old re-runs of the Games. I'm sure you know how it goes by now but it wouldn't hurt to have them fresh in our mind."

"I guess that sounds reasonable," Max shrugs, glancing at me.

"In all honesty, Mags, the last thing I want to do is watch people be killed in the Game I'll be playing," I get up and leave the table without being dismissed – and without eating dessert.

I sit in my room and watch out the window, crowds already gathering outside the secret arena. The first day of the Hunger Games is a national holiday across Panem. Families from the Capitol flock to the nearby hotels and make a vacation out of it – celebrating the imminent death of 23 innocent children.

I close the curtains and go to the bathroom, using the shower's most vigorous cycle because who knows when I'll next see water?

The hot, pulsating water, infused with lavender, makes me sleepy. As the shower dries my body and hair, smoothing out all of the knots, I stumble to my bed, pulling on pyjamas and falling fast asleep.

I dream of Finnick saving me in the Games – us both coming out alive – but even in my subconscious, I know it'll never happen.


End file.
